Number Seven
by Nixa Jane
Summary: There's a serial killer on the loose, and the team has to find them before they reach their seventh kill--or they might lose one of their own.
1. Prologue

Number Seven

* * *

Nick/Viva Charles (the pyromaniac from_ Bad Words_--I promise that I have my reasons), but nothing really serious--this is definitely not a love story.

Note: This story started out as just a kind of 'what if' Nick had actually tried to pursue a relationship with the pyromaniac in _Bad Words_…it was supposed to be a funny little story, and it ended up having a serial killer--I'm thinking this is because I watch too much CSI.

-

Prologue

-

Nick Stokes was having a bad day. Correction: He had a wonderful day. He was having a bad night. He had fallen out of bed at six o'clock, two hours before he was supposed to be at the lab, when his pager went off. He'd landed on a pile of matchbooks on the floor. Viva Charles was not the domestic type, and her house was just to the right of scary. He had toyed with the question of what he might find if he ever brought his equipment here, but dismissed the thought when he decided he didn't want to know.

He had slipped into his jeans and grabbed his t-shirt off the chair in the corner. There was a large hole burned through the front of it, near the lower left edge. He rolled his eyes and pulled it over his head. He didn't have time to stop by his place before Grissom would begin calling after him again. There had been a body found in casino hotel room, and he was needed there ten minutes ago already.

He dropped to his knees when he noticed his shoes were not where he left them, and looked under the bed. More matchbooks. "Viva, I think this is a fire hazard."

"I love it when you talk sexy," Viva Charles said, as she pulled the sheet around and leaned over the edge of the bed. "What are you looking for?"

"I can't find my shoes."

She smiled at him and sat up on the bed. "I hid them."

He paused, and then glanced up at her incredulously. "You hid my shoes?"

She nodded. "Let's see you leave now, hotshot." She laughed at his stricken look and he let his head fall into his hands.

He'd been dating the pyromaniac for two weeks. They had met two months after the arson case had been closed at the grocery store, and even though he knew it was probably a bad idea he asked her out. He had learned, around about date two, that she had more problems than just the fire thing, and she was, frankly, quite possibly insane. But every time he tried to break it off she did something that would make him stay, and he had to admit, he was strangely drawn to her.

"Viva?" He started, his voice muffled as he covered his head with his hands.

"Hmm?"

He lifted his head. "If you don't give me back my shoes, I'm going to get fired."

She glared at him and then with a growl, jumped from the bed and stalked across the room. He noticed she was wearing a pair of his sweat pants, which he thought was strange, because he had never brought them here. Mentally, he added kleptomania to the list. When she returned she was holding his favorite pair of white sneakers, and without pause, she launched them one after the other at his head.

The first one slammed into his right cheek bone, and he caught the second. He glared up at her. "Viv! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Aren't you going to leave?" she snapped.

He pulled the shoes on and grabbed his jacket and keys from the nightstand. "Okay, that's it, Viv, I think we've got to talk--"

"If you're trying to break up with me again," she said. "Why don't you just say so?"

He smiled widely, falsely. "Okay. Viv, I'm breaking up with you."

"Good!" she snapped. "Out! Get out!"

Next thing he knew, he'd been shoved out the front door, his jacket dangling from his left hand and his phone ringing. He sighed and opened the flip phone. It was Grissom. He wasn't surprised. "Stokes," he said.

"Nick, where are you?"

"What are you still doing here?!" The shout came from above him. Viva was leaning out the second story window. "Go!" she yelled, before throwing a telephone out the window. He stepped back and it broke to pieces at his feet.

"Nick? What was that, are you alright?"

"I'm on my way, Grissom. Sorry I'm running late." Nick quickly got into his car, out of the way of flying telephones, and started down the street.

"That's alright, Nick," Grissom said, his voice calm and curious like always. "Just get here."

Nick turned off the cell phone and stepped on the gas.

* * *

Nick parked in front of the casino. There were media vans already, but the police lines were keeping them at bay. He leaned into the back seat and grabbed his vest, hoping it would cover the burn in his shirt. The frayed edges of the lower part of the hole still stuck out beneath it and he rolled his eyes, put his jacket on over it, and grabbed his kit from the backseat.

When he entered the room, Grissom shot him a curious glance, and Catherine's eyebrows raised. "You look like hell," she said, grinning the whole time.

"Thank you, Catherine," he replied politely, setting his kit out of the way and pulling on his gloves. "What's the situation?"

Catherine watched him for a moment before she spoke. "The D.B.'s a casino host here. He lives in Las Vegas, but two days ago he asked for time off work and rented a room."

Nick cast her a curious glance. "You think he was hiding from someone?"

"That would be my guess," she nodded. "Apparently with good reason. From what we can tell, he was strangled. There are rope burns around the throat, and we found a few fibers in the wound."

Nick nodded and pulled out his flashlight. His eyes flickered to the center of the room. The D.B. was laid out on the bed, eyes still open. He could tell it was strangulation from where he stood. His eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. The guy was young, probably still in his twenties. Nick thought he looked familiar. "What was his name?"

Grissom came to stand beside him. "Mark Call. Why? Do you know him?"

Nick shook his head. "He looks familiar though." He turned his flashlight away from the body, towards the nightstand. The drawer was ajar. "Have we checked the nightstands yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," Grissom said. "What do you have?"

"Nothing yet," he said softly. He got to his knees and began dusting for prints. Two showed up, and he pulled them up with the fingerprint kit and slowly pulled the drawer open. A mail package was open inside, no return address. He carefully lifted it out. "Grissom?"

Grissom appeared behind him. "Interesting. Why don't we see what's in it?"

Nick laid out a white sheet, and carefully emptied the contents onto it. A small piece of thin white cardboard fell out, and with it, a small male doll that had been decapitated and burned. The number one was carved into its chest. "Nice," Nick said. "This looks like a crime of passion. What do you think? Love notes?"

Grissom squinted at the evidence, and turned the piece of cardboard over. The other side had the word 'burn' written in red capitals. He leaned back on his heels. "You may have something there, Nick."

* * *

Catherine headed back to the lab with Nick, to investigate the mysterious package and the fingerprints they had pulled so far, as well as the thread they had found in the strangulation wound while Grissom finished processing the scene. Nick could feel Catherine's eyes alternately flickering towards him, and then back to the road.

He sighed. "What?" he asked softly.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I was just wondering how that happened?" She motioned to the burn in his shirt, which had shifted into view.

Nick shrugged. "Accident with a candle." He decided to leave out just whose candle it had been, because he was pretty sure Catherine would not approve.

"It looks like you're getting a bruise on your cheek," she said casually.

Nick shifted and was grateful to see they had arrived. "Oh look, we're here."

Catherine gave him a look, not fooled, and then shook her head ruefully. She decided not to grill him about his social life, at the moment anyway. They had enough on their hands with the new case. They entered the lab together, carefully holding the bags of evidence.

"You want to take the doll and I'll do fingerprints? I can pass the thread off on Warrick."

Catherine nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Nick!" One of the lab receptionists ran out in front of them, holding a package. "This came for you." She held it out and he took it curiously. "It arrived two days ago, actually, I had time off and when I came back it was still here…I'm so sorry, I hope it's nothing important."

He smiled at her. "I'm sure it's fine, Carrie, don't worry about it."

She smiled too, and headed back to her desk.

Catherine smiled wryly at him once she had gone. "Carrie, huh? First name basis?"

He laughed. "I like people, what can I say? It's nothing untoward, Catherine, I promise you. I'm kind of seeing someone right now, anyway."

"Only kind of?" Catherine asked. Her eyes strayed back to his t-shirt. "Candles?"

"Its hell having investigators for friends," he said good-naturedly, as they headed into the lab. He placed the evidence on one of the counters and turned to his own package.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she asked wryly. "I'll find out eventually, you know."

He laughed. "Okay, yes, I'm seeing someone. Or I was. She kind of threw me out this morning."

"Harsh," she laughed. "She sounds charming."

"You have no idea," Nick said slyly. He took off the vest and threw it over the chair. He quickly put his jacket on in its place to cover the burn hole, but not before Catherine caught sight of just how large it was.

Something clicked, and she closed her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, Nick. Tell me you didn't--the pyromaniac?"

He smiled at her sheepishly. "She's cute."

"She's psychopathic," Catherine shot back.

Nick shrugged and opened his package. "It's over anyway. I think. We've kind of had a few break ups already so it's hard to tell." He looked inside the envelope and froze. "Ah, Catherine, you might want to have a look at this…"

She came up beside him and gasped. She grabbed the phone. "Grissom, we've got a problem."

* * *

The whole gang sat around the conference table, Grissom standing at the head, Nick in the corner, his thumb placed on his lip as he stared at the contents of the table.

"You don't have any idea who could have sent this to you, Nick?" Grissom asked.

Nick shook his head. "Nope."

Instead of one doll on the table, now there were two. The writing on the packages were a perfect match, and neither had a return address. Both contained the note 'burn.' They were exactly the same, except for the fact that while the victim's doll had a one carved on its chest, Nick's read seven.

"I do," Catherine said, shooting Nick a censuring glance. She didn't know why he hadn't mentioned it himself, but if this was a threat on his life she wasn't going to leave anything to chance. "Nick has been seeing Viva Charles, the pyromaniac." She nodded towards the burned dolls. "And whoever sent these notes likes to play with fire."

Nick shook his head. "No, she's harmless." At Catherine's incredulous look, he gave a half-hearted grin. "_Nuts_, but harmless. Besides, we…spent the day together and Dave put the time of death at about one this afternoon. She couldn't have done it."

Grissom watched the interchange. "What were you doing?"

"We were sleeping," Nick said, looking defiant. Sara snorted, and he glanced at her, mildly amused.

"You just worked a triple shift, didn't you?" Grissom asked. "I imagine you were pretty tired. Is there any way she could have left at some point? The two of you would be on very different schedules."

"Actually, she kind of…switched schedules for me. She's been sleeping during days for the last couple of weeks."

Catherine glanced at him surprised, growing more worried by the moment. "We still can't rule her out. She could have left and returned without your knowledge, the casino isn't very far from her home."

Nick took a deep breath. "It's possible, I suppose, but--"

"Warrick," Grissom started.

"I'm on it," he responded quickly. After shooting one quick concerned glance in Nick's direction, he headed out to see if he could place Viva at the scene.

"Nick," Grissom said. "I don't think I need to tell you that you're off the case." Technically, Grissom knew it might be better to take all of them off the case--including himself. They were all getting too close to it now that one of their own was at risk, but he wanted them to handle it if they could. Nick's life could be at stake.

Nick sighed. "No."

"Why don't you stick around the lab, anyway?" he suggested lightly. "And maybe stay away from Ms. Charles for a few days?"

Nick nodded, looking confused and mildly hurt, before leaving the room.

Sara let out a breath and looked at the two dolls after he had gone. "Why does Nick always attract the psychos?"

Catherine glanced at her, before her eyes settled back on the charred seven. "Maybe because he's the one that reaches out to them."

TBC…


	2. Number Seven

Author's Notes: This is the bulk of it; I'll be posting the conclusion just as soon as I edit it. And I'm definitely thinking this is my first and _last_ case file fic, I may have to stick to short character pieces from now on...

* * *

Warrick tiredly headed back into the lab. He had been at the casino for hours, going over the security tapes. None of the angles captured the door to Mark Call's room exactly, and if someone had been trying not to be seen, they would have been able to sneak under the radar and into the room without a trace. He had gone over the tapes to the hotel entrance next, trying to see if Viva ever entered the casino, but he found no trace of her there, either.

Either she had been disguised, or Nick was right and she had not been there at all. Something was still off about the whole thing, and tired as he was he wasn't ready to quit.

He pulled up short when he saw Greg in one of the labs, sorting through a large pile of items. He entered the room. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Greg glanced up at him. "With Nick off the case, Grissom asked for some help. I'm going over some of the items Catherine brought back from the vic's house."

Warrick grabbed a pair of gloves. "Need any help?"

Greg nodded before turning back to the mail they had collected. "Bills, bills, and more bills. I'm not seeing any other threatening letters, and his stuff is pretty standard. Chances are the killer found him at the hotel and was never even in his house."

Warrick, who had grabbed a photo album and begun flipping through it, shook his head. "I don't think your odds are as solid as you think," he said, sliding the photo album towards Greg.

Greg glanced up and looked down at it. "Viva Charles," he said quietly. She was in the picture, sitting with Mark Call on his living room couch, smiling for the camera.

* * *

Viva Charles found herself back in the interrogation room, and this time the atmosphere was tense. The eyes across from her held no semblance of sympathy, not like Nick's had, and after what she had just learned she had no desire to toy with any of them any way. One of her old boyfriends had died, and the CSIs had come to her door with a warrant to search. "I want to talk with Nick," she demanded.

Brass looked down at her and shook his head. "Nick Stokes isn't working on this case. I'm afraid you'll have to settle for us."

"You drag me down here, you tell me Mark is dead, and now, what? You think I did it?" she yelled. "Haven't we been through all this once before? I'm not a murderer."

Grissom watched her calmly. "Where were you at one o'clock today?"

"I was with Nick," she said, leaning back in the chair and glaring him down. "In bed, if you must know. But I'm sure he told you that."

Grissom grinned wryly. "I wanted to hear it from you. You didn't leave at any time during the afternoon?"

Viva crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. "No. Look, I haven't talked to Mark in years. I didn't even know he was still living here--you're looking in the wrong place."

"Two people that you have been involved with have received threatening letters. One of them is dead," Brass snapped, walking to stand beside the table. "That's a pretty big coincidence if it has nothing to do with you."

Viva's eyes slid in his direction. "Two people?" She looked back to Grissom. "Nick?"

Grissom tilted his head back, and it was answer enough.

Viva bit her lip. "Look, Nick is a great guy, I would never do something to hurt him."

Catherine entered the interrogation room, holding a manila folder and small brown bag. "Then I don't suppose you would know anything about that bruise under his eye?"

Viva glared at her, and Grissom turned slowly in her direction. "Catherine, good of you to join us."

Catherine smiled at him. "I am sorry I'm late. Sara just had something dropped off from her search." She opened the brown bag, and placed a small male doll on the table. It was wearing jeans and a backwards cap, a little plastic cigarette hung between its lips. "Looks like the same dolls in the letters, doesn't it? Granted it's in a little better condition and still has a head, but I had Greg analyze the plastic against the remains of the doll found on the victim, and from what he can tell, it's a clean match."

Viva shook her hair out of her eyes. "That doesn't prove anything. They sell those at the cigarette stand in a liquor store I go to. It's where I buy my matches. Anyone could get one."

"Ms. Charles," Grissom said slowly. "Did you ever give one of these dolls to a boyfriend?"

Vive looked down at the table, and tapped one of her fingers on the tabletop. The tip of her acrylic nail clicked against the metal in a quick, uneasy tempo.

"Ms. Charles?" Brass prompted tightly.

She looked up defiantly. "I've given one to all of them."

* * *

"I don't like this, Grissom," Catherine snapped as they walked back to the lab. "She's just going to walk out of here…"

"We have nothing to hold her on," Grissom said reasonably. "Sara is still at her house, if she finds anything we'll be the first to know."

Catherine caught sight of Nick in the break room, and motioned to the door. Grissom nodded and they entered. "Hey, Nicky," she said. "Does this look familiar?"

Nick glanced up, saw the small doll and leaned back against the counter with a sigh. "Don't tell me it's the same as the one found on the murder victim."

"Got it in one," she said. "Still think your little girlfriend is clean?"

He pursed his lips together. "Catherine, she's not a murderer. She's obviously a piece of the puzzle, but it doesn't make her guilty and you know that--"

"Hold on," Grissom interrupted. "Nick's not working on this case."

Nick let out a frustrated sigh and dropped down on a chair. "I was answering a question."

"Nick," Catherine said quietly. "Viva used to be involved with Mark, just be careful, okay?"

Nick placed his head in his hands. "That's where I recognized him," he said in realization. "She has a wall covered in pictures."

Catherine's eyes snapped to him. "Where?"

He looked up. "Her bedroom. Why?"

Catherine grabbed her cell phone, and started towards the door without answering. "Sara? Check the bedroom."

* * *

Catherine took the steps two at a time, and stepped into Viva Charles's bedroom on the second floor. She dodged matches and clothing to join Sara at the other side of the room. Sara heard her enter, and spoke without turning.

"It's like a shrine," she said. "All her old boyfriends, or at least the ones that made the cut. Guess who's being featured this week?"

Catherine came to a stop beside her. A large picture of Nick was tacked dead center in the collage. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"You're telling me?" Sara asked dryly. "This girl could compete with Nigel Crane on the compulsive scale. And you're not going to believe this, but she's got a numbering system."

"You're kidding," Catherine said in disbelief, glancing over at Sara.

Sara smiled tightly and nodded towards the pictures. "Nick's lucky number seven. You would think someone this organized with their boyfriends would have better luck hanging up their clothes."

"How many have you found?" Catherine asked quietly, her eyes roaming over the board.

"Seven," Sara said simply. "They've been ordered. Mark was number one." Sara motioned to a picture of him off in the corner, a small number one was scribbled in red marker on the side of the photo.

"Collect them," Catherine ordered. "If this is a serial, we've got to find these guys before the killer strikes again."

"Don't we have Viva in custody?" Sara asked.

"We had nothing to keep her on. Besides, Nick seems convinced she's innocent, he could be right." Catherine's eyes flickered back to his photo, and the small seven in the corner.

"I have less than stellar confidence in Nick's taste in woman," Sara snapped. "And he's sometimes too willing to believe a suspect is innocent."

"And sometimes I'm too willing to believe they're guilty," Catherine countered. "We all have our downfalls, Sara, that's why we work better as a team." Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a photo hidden beneath the others, the corner burnt. She snapped on her gloves and carefully pulled it out.

"What do you have?" Sara asked.

Catherine held the photo up. It was Viva sitting on a park bench with a man, and where his head was had been burned, a neat hole blocking out anything above the neck. "Number eight, maybe?" she whispered.

"Or zero," Sara said with a raised eyebrow. "I'm guessing her numbering system is chronological," she said in explanation. "And this guy looks like one she doesn't want to remember. Maybe first love?"

"Why don't we ask her?" Catherine asked, and Sara grinned.

"You can ask her more than that once we track her down again."

Catherine and Sara turned at the voice, and saw Brass standing in the doorway with a frown. "We got a call about a half hour after Viva left the station. Wife came home from the grocery store and found her husband dead on their bed, I just came from the scene--guy was strangled, and here's the best part--"

"You found a souvenir," Catherine whispered. "A burnt doll."

Brass nodded, and Sara sifted through the photos before pulling out the one labeled two. "And is this, by any chance, our D.B.?"

Brass stared at the picture and his eyes widened. "Damn. You girls are good."

"Not good enough," Catherine said with an angry shake of her head. "If we'd had another hour we might have saved him."

* * *

Catherine put up Nick's picture in the briefing room, beneath a seven, the last in a row of the pictures they had taken from Viva's house. Sara leaned against the table behind her. She examined the set up carefully. "So we know three of the seven, our D.B.s Mark Call and David Clark--and Nick. We should run the other pictures, see if the DMV can find us a match. We've got to find these guys."

Grissom entered the room, and held up a small book with a grin. "That might not be necessary. I stopped by to help Warrick with the other items you brought back from Ms. Charles's home, and found this."

"A diary?" Catherine asked.

"An address book," he corrected, laying it down on the table. "There's a section labeled 'special', and there's only seven names there." He flipped to the right page and Catherine and Sara glanced over his shoulder. They were numbered again--neatly down a row, with phone numbers on the opposite page.

1. Mark Call

2. David Clark

3. Simon O'Neil

4. Aaron Breece

5. Chad Thompson

6. John Lindsay

7. Nick Stokes

"If she is our killer," Catherine said with a raised eyebrow. "She certainly makes our job easier."

Grissom nodded. "There's still been no sign of her, so we need to contact them. See if they received one of the notes, warn them, offer protection."

"We're on it," Sara said, taking the address box.

"Actually, can you handle it?" Catherine asked, as she backed towards the door.

Sara nodded, looking bemused, and Grissom stepped beside her. "I'll help her--what are you thinking?"

Catherine grinned at him, and then stepped into the hall. "I just have some questions for Nick."

* * *

Catherine found him in the lab, leaning over the counter and looking into a microscope, Greg standing beside him. "Hey, guys. What are you working on?"

Greg turned to her, grinning. "Nick's been helping me out for a change."

Nick laughed and stood up. "I was bored--and even though I'm off the case, Grissom wanted me here in case you guys needed me. Greg kindly offered to allow me to do his grunt work."

Catherine grinned wryly. "Well, I'm glad you're still here--I have questions."

Nick crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. "Fire away."

"Viva gave you one of the dolls, right?" she asked.

Nick raised his eyebrows. "One with a head, yes."

Catherine watched him carefully. "Anything suspicious about the way she did? Creepy comments you didn't really think about, but might be meaningful?"

"She's strange, Catherine," Nick said with a laugh. "She said all kinds of things, but she's just…quirky--she didn't do this." Nick sighed and looked over at her. "I heard about the second D.B., and even if you could make a case that she left the station and went directly to his house, pulled off a murder, all within a half hour, she wouldn't do it. There's no motive--she said she hadn't seen that guy for years."

"To be honest with you, Nick, I'm not sure I believe anything she said. And the pictures…the numbers, it doesn't look good."

Nick's arms uncrossed and fell to his side. "Numbers?" he asked, confused.

Catherine looked at him in surprise. "Yes. All the photos had numbers, you were number seven, just like on the doll."

Nick shook his head. "Catherine, I was in that house this afternoon, there were no numbers on any of the pictures."

Catherine paused, momentarily thrown by the unexpected testimony. "You said you had a fight," Catherine said. "Maybe when you left she thought it was really over, she was angry, she decided to make her plans clearer--"

"Or maybe the killer was in her house," Nick interrupted firmly. "Maybe you should check those photos for prints. They might not all be hers."

Catherine bit her lip, and placed one of her hands on the table. "You think someone came in, and labeled the pictures?"

Nick shrugged. "Maybe we're dealing with a stalker--possessive, wants to get rid of anyone that might come between them. All I'm saying, Catherine, is to explore all the angles. I really don't think Viva is capable of murder, not to mention the lack of any real defensive wounds on the D.B.s--whoever subdued them was strong and didn't give them a chance to fight back, and Viv acts tough, but she's a lightweight."

"I thought you weren't working on this case," Greg said, looking smug.

Nick grinned at him. "I'm not. It doesn't stop me from thinking about it."

Catherine nodded. "Alright--I'll check the photos for prints." She walked to the doorway and then turned back. "You keep thinking, Nicky."

Greg turned back to Nick once Catherine had gone. "You really think Viva is innocent?"

Nick sighed. "Yeah--but the evidence doesn't lie, and it's not looking good."

"You just made a pretty good case to defend her," Greg pointed out.

Nick turned and grinned weakly at him. "Right now, there isn't enough evidence to rule out anything."

Nick's cell phone rung, and he flipped it open. "Stokes."

"Nick! I need to see you, it's important."

Nick turned away from Greg, who followed his movement with suspicion. "Where are you?"

"I'm in my car--meet me at Carlson Liquors. Nick, I didn't do this, I need you to believe me. Please, come meet me. I want to talk with you, and then I'll come back to the station with you."

Greg was straining to hear, so Nick gave him a hard look and moved further away. "Why don't you just come now?"

"I need to see you first. Please, Nick."

Viva's voice was breaking over the words, and he thought she sounded like she was crying. He closed his eyes, and resisted the urge to angrily hit the wall. He knew what he should do--and he knew what he was going to do. If Grissom found out, he was going to kill him. "Sit tight, I'll be there." Nick hung up the phone, and turned to face Greg, who was trying his best to look casual and not at all like he was eavesdropping. "I've got to run an errand."

"What kind of errand?" Greg asked promptly.

Nick smiled disarmingly. "Just got to pick up a few things, I'll be right back, Greggo. Don't worry."

"Grissom wanted you to stick around," Greg said cautiously.

Nick shed the lap coat and grabbed his jacket from the chair. "I'll be back before he even knows I'm gone."

Greg fell back into his chair as he watched Nick leave, and then nervously tapped his pen along the counter. He toyed with the idea of calling Grissom to give him a heads up, but dismissed it. He wasn't going to get Nick into trouble over nothing. He sighed, and looked up as the computer began printing a read-out. He just hoped it really was nothing.

* * *

"So these are our guys?" Sara asked.

Grissom nodded. They watched the next four men on the list through the glass, they were all sitting in the hallway, half of them looked anxious, and the other half just looked irritated. "Simon O'Neil, Aaron Breece, Chad Thompson, and John Lindsay. All of them received the same messages and dolls. Once we explained what was going on, they were more than happy to come in. I'm having Warrick check the messages for prints, but like with Nick's and our D.B.s--"

"They'll probably come back clean," Sara said wryly.

Grissom tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Aaron Breece and John Lindsay," he said. "The two on the end, both say Viva couldn't have anything to do with this. The other two are demanding she be arrested--they both say she's insane."

"The difference between a good a break up and a bad one, I guess," Sara said with a small grin.

"Chad Thompson actually had a restraining order against her a year or two ago, said she kept throwing ashes all over his porch and torching his garden. He had an affair with Viva, and after she came to his house a few times the wife figured it out."

"You think he could be a suspect?" Sara asked.

"Right now?" Grissom asked. "They're all suspects. The one playing with the lighter is Aaron Breece. Another pyromaniac."

Sara nodded. "So it's possible he's behind the notes. The burned dolls, the threatening message. If they were smart they would have sent one of the letters to themselves--it takes the suspicion off them if they're potential victims."

Grissom nodded. "Only problem with that theory is, if they're killing in order--"

"What do they do when they get to themselves?" Sara filled in resignedly. "If one of them was skipped over, it would give them away."

"I've got something," Catherine said briskly, as she joined them. They both turned to look at her. "There were no prints at all on the photos we collected from her house. Someone wiped them clean. And that might tell us more than if they'd been covered in Viva's. Nick may be right--there might be someone else behind this."

Sara nodded. "Maybe our zero," she suggested.

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Maybe she's a neat freak and she didn't want smudges on her pictures?"

Sara grinned over at him. "You weren't at her place. _Not_ a neat freak. I seriously doubt she's ever dusted in her life, let alone worried about fingerprint smudges."

Catherine sighed, and turned to look at the first picture they had tacked up--the man with his face burnt out of the picture. "Either way, we should find this guy. There's five lives at stake."

"They're all safe for now at least," Sara said, nodding towards the glass window that showed the men waiting in the hall. "We rounded them up."

Catherine turned and her eyes ran over them. "Not Nick," she said.

Grissom frowned and walked to the phone. "I'll page him. He said he was going to stay around the lab."

She nodded. "Just call Greg's office," Catherine said. "Nick was helping him out the last I saw him."

Grissom dialed the phone, and Greg answered on the first ring. "Greg, have you seen Nick?"

"He's not back yet?" Greg asked, sounding concerned.

"Back?" Grissom snapped. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know, he left for an errand--"

Grissom hung up before Greg could finish, and dialed Nick's cell phone. Catherine and Sara shared a concerned look, and on the line, Grissom listened to it ring, but no one answered.

* * *

Nick walked up to the liquor store entrance, but the store was dark, except for one flickering bulb behind the counter. He stepped forward when he noticed the door was ajar, and turned to look behind him. Viva wasn't standing on the street, so he carefully pulled the door back and stepped inside.

His phone started ringing, caller id placed the call at LVPD, and with a wince he turned the phone off. If he answered now they would ask where he was, and he didn't want to lie, but he had to see Viva before he told them where she could be found. He stepped further inside, and noticed the dolls Viv loved so much lined up on the front edge of the counter, following his every move with their little plastic eyes. "Those things are really starting to creep me out," he mumbled, before turning to look back towards the street.

He heard a crash behind him and spun, his hand falling down towards his weapon before slowly pulling it out, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Viv?"

No one answered, and he felt a flash of air behind him, a quick movement--and before he could react something connected with the back of his head. His eyes rolled backwards slowly, and as his legs went limp, he began falling towards the floor.

* * *

Catherine pulled the SUV to a stop and jumped out onto the pavement. Two other doors slammed after hers, and as she moved to grab her kit, Grissom and Sara were already heading over to talk to Brass. She pulled the kit from the back and walked to join them.

"A patrol saw his car, called it in. But there's been no sign of Nicky," Brass said with a sigh.

Grissom turned to look at Nick's car. "It doesn't look like there was a struggle near the car. Sara, why don't you process it anyway--see what you can find?"

Sara nodded and headed back towards the car. Grissom turned to Catherine. "Why don't we--"

"Go across the street," Catherine said, nodded to the other side of the road. "A liquor store."

Grissom followed her line of sight and gave a small grin that was quickly washed away by worry. "Let's go."

Brass followed them into the store. An out to lunch sign hung in the window, but the time it said he would return had passed ten minutes before and a man stood behind the counter, watching the activity outside with interest.

Grissom took the lead and flashed his id badge. "I'm Gil Grissom and this is Catherine Willows, we're with the crime lab. This is Detective Brass. We have a few questions."

The man looked to be in his forties, and there were lines on his face Catherine thought might be premature--considering he was working behind a cigarette stand in a liquor store she wasn't surprised. "Dave Landers," he said, before looking at the criminalists with interest. He ran a hand through thin brown hair, and the strands fell back into his eyes. "What's this all about?"

"One of our guys is missing," Catherine said, her eyes straying towards the dolls lining the counter. "His car is across the street. We have reason to believe he may have stopped here."

Dave shrugged. "If he was, I didn't see him. When I got back from lunch the police were already here. I thought there was an accident or somethin'."

Catherine smiled tightly. "Was that truck out there already here when you left?"

The man shook his head. "I've never seen it."

Grissom picked up one of the dolls, a distracted look moving to cloud his eyes. "Do these sell well?" he asked.

The man smiled and leaned back against the wall behind him. "Nah. Hardly ever. This one crazy chick practically buys me out of them, though."

Grissom's eyes flicked to his. "Viva Charles?"

The man's eyes widened. "Yeah. Hey, she got something to do with all this?"

Grissom didn't answer as he turned to examine the store. His eyes narrowed as he caught a flash of silver, and he lowered to his knees. He snapped on one of his gloves and lifted it from the floor. "Catherine," he said. "Does this look like Nick's cell phone to you?"

Catherine stepped forward as she placed on her own gloves and took the phone from his hands. She flipped it open, and when she turned it on it flashed the message 'Hello, Nick.' "This is his," she said, moving to check his call history. She sighed when she recognized the number. "And the last person he talked to was Viva Charles."

"Damn it," Brass snapped. "He came here to meet her. And now…"

"Don't say it, Jim," Catherine snapped. "We don't know anything yet. There's no blood, there's not even a sign of struggle." She spun back around to face the cashier. "Do you lock up before you leave for lunch?"

"I sometimes forget," he said. "But I'm only gone for like fifteen minutes, it's never been a problem."

Grissom glanced at him. "And did you forget today?"

"The door was open when I got here," he admitted. "But nothin' was stolen."

Catherine's eyes rolled to meet Grissom's. "What are you thinking?"

His eyes roamed over the room. He could see in his mind Nick enter the store, the lights turned off, his hand hovering over his hostler. He could hear him call out Viva's name and then see a shadowy figure appear behind him, a bottle of whiskey held almost tightly enough to break. Nick starts to spin around when he hears the motion behind him and the bottle swings down, sending him to the ground.

He turned to the wall beside the door as Nick and his assailant melted away to nothing. There was a small drop of amber liquid lodged in the corner. He tilted his head and pulled out a swab, leaning down to collect it. He lifted it to his nose, and smelled the alcohol. "When you returned," he asked Dave without turning. "Was anything broken, maybe a bottle on the ground?"

"No. Why?" he asked.

A fleck of glass caught his attention when it reflected a flash of light, and he pulled out his forceps. He lifted it up, and on the edges of the brown glass he could see red. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave for awhile, Mr. Landers. This has just become a crime scene."

Behind him, Catherine lowered her eyes to the ground.

* * *

He woke to the sound of dripping water. Each time one drop slipped to the ground it would echo in his head, waves of pain spreading outwards as he tried to place where he was. His hands where pulled somewhere above his head, he could feel the rope burning his wrists. He moaned and tilted his head back. It connected with hot concrete, and tears stung his eyes as the gash on his head sprung to life.

He opened his eyes, and through a blurry layer of confusion and tears he saw a door across from him, shelves lining the walls. His feet weren't bound but it hardly mattered, he could barely move at the moment and the ropes around his wrists were not going to be easily undone.

He could feel wet cotton on the tip of his tongue. A gag had been wound around his head, and forced between his teeth. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he could see things somewhat clearer. He thought he was in a storage closet of some kind, and a bottle of water was on its side on the second self, water slipping slowly towards the ground--the sound of it connecting with the concrete and slicing through his aching head.

And near the door one of those dolls lay broken, a matchbox by its side.

* * *

"Hit the lights, Catherine," Grissom said, as he pulled a spray bottle of Luminol from his kit. He sprayed it on the door and the wall beside it, the ground and the edge of the counter. A few small specks showed up blue, but it was barely enough to swab and some of it could months old.

"No blood," he said.

"No blood splatter means he was probably only hit once. That's good," Sara said as she walked through the door. "I have O'Riley dropping off that piece of glass to Greg for analysis. What do you want me to do here?"

Catherine looked over at her. Sara looked edgy, and she could hardly blame her. This wasn't exactly a usual case, and Nick's life was on the line. She stepped over to her. "Why don't you check behind the counter? See if you can find any sales records. I'd like to know who has been buying those dolls."

Grissom glanced up. "Mr. Landers said he only sold them to Viva. You don't believe him?"

Catherine shrugged. "I'm just exploring all the angles. Nick is absolutely convinced Viva isn't behind this, and it wouldn't hurt to check. Landers gave us permission to look wherever we'd like--albeit reluctantly."

Grissom nodded and looked back out the window where Landers was arguing with Brass. He had a bad feeling they were running out of time. Dealing with cases like this was always very different than their ordinary routines--when the people in trouble weren't dead every move you made just let the seconds slip away.

Sara went through the drawers and files. "I can't find anything. Places like this don't usually keep very thorough records."

"I didn't think they would," Catherine said with a sigh. "What's the status on the other guys? 3 through 6?"

Sara shrugged. "They're still at the station but they're getting anxious. Brass offered them all police escorts but none of them seemed to like the idea. Lindsay was the only one that agreed, the others just want to finish answering questions and go home."

Catherine shook her head. "People don't make it easy to keep them safe, do they? And what the hell was Nick doing going to meet Viva anyway?"

Sara bit her lip and looked down, Grissom just shook his head. "Recriminations aren't going to help anyone, Catherine."

"Yeah, yeah," she snapped, running her flashlight over the shelves of liquor. "I'll save the recriminations for later--after we get him back."

Sara and Grissom said nothing else, because though they wanted to believe that, they were both unable to voice the hopes out loud and so casually as Catherine had, as though it wasn't a hope at all and simply the truth.

* * *

Greg glared angrily at the printer, waiting for the results. He had taken a DNA sample from glass shard that had been brought in, and he knew with a sinking feeling it would come back as Nick's. None of them were supposed to be on the other side of the microscope, they were investigators not the victims. He knew logically that all of those horrible things that happened to the people brought here could just have easily have happened to any of them, but knowing it logically and facing it were two entirely different things.

Archie appeared at the doorway. "Is it true about Nick?"

Greg glanced at him. "Bad news travels fast," he said tightly.

"No kidding," Archie said. "I just saw it on the channel seven."

Greg's head shot up. "What?" He got to his feet and pushed past Archie to the break room. The television was already on, a few of his fellow lab rats gathered around to watch as the reporter told the world about the mysterious disappearance of a CSI, possibly related to the two recent stranglings that were being labeled a serial by the LVPD.

"How did they find out about this?" Archie asked tiredly.

Greg ran a hand through his hair. "Who knows? They have spies everywhere. Nick found a reporter hiding in the closet of a crime scene once. Grissom isn't going to like this." He closed his eyes and then spun, heading back towards the lab.

And when he got there the printout was waiting for him, and when he read the results he knew Grissom wasn't going to like them, either.

* * *

His phone started ringing as he was sprinkling fingerprint powder on the edge of the counter. He answered it without pausing. "Grissom."

"I got the results. It's Nick's blood," Greg said, for once getting straight to the point. "And I don't know if you've heard, but this case is all over the news."

Grissom paused and then sighed. "I suppose it isn't surprising. Thanks, Greg." He closed his cell phone and Catherine glanced over at him. "The blood came back Nick's," he told her. "And they're running the case on the news."

"Doesn't take them long, does it?" Catherine asked wryly, as she turned to run her flashlight along the other wall.

"It might pay off this time," Brass said as he came to stand between them. "O'Riley just called. Viva showed up at the station--says she saw the story on the news and wants to help."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Let's let her then." He turned to Sara. "You want to finish up here?"

She nodded. "Sure."

Catherine, Brass and Grissom headed back out onto the street, and Landers caught Grissom's attention before he could get in his car.

"Are you guys done yet?" he asked.

"One of my CSIs is finishing up and then you can have your store back," Grissom said. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Landers, but you really need to lock up your store." He started to get into the car.

"I'll work on that, Mr. Grissom. Sorry I couldn't be more of a help," he called after him. Grissom paused and slowly turned around, but Dave was already walking back towards his store, and he needed to get to the lab before time ran out and there was no one left to save.

* * *

Grissom, Catherine, and Brass met O'Riley in front of the station and started towards the interrogation room. "She came in on her own," he said. "Stupid move if she's guilty."

"Or a smart one," Catherine said wryly.

O'Riley tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Our four guys left when she was placed in the interrogation room. We tried to explain we can't ensure their safety if they do and that Viva was not our only suspect, but they didn't listen. No one ever thinks it will happen to them." He paused when the reached the room. "She's in there. I'll let you guys handle it--I'm going for a coffee break."

"Have fun," Grissom said absently, before leading the way into the room.

Viva shifted anxiously when she saw them. "Nick is missing?" she asked tersely.

"You tell us," Grissom said, taking one of the chairs across from her. Brass sat in the other, and Catherine leaned against the wall.

"I came here," Viva snapped. "I'm trying to help. If this has something to do with me, maybe I can. But I am not a murderer."

"So you've said," Catherine said slowly. "The evidence is telling a different story."

Viva slouched back in her chair impatiently. "Nick is in trouble and you're wasting time trying to pin this on me."

"We don't try to 'pin' things on anyone," Grissom interrupted calmly. "We look for clues and we follow them. Biases don't enter into it."

"Maybe not for you," Viv said slyly. "I doubt all of your CSIs could say the same." Viva's eyes flickered to Catherine's as she spoke, but Catherine showed no reaction and neither did Grissom.

"Where have you been since you left the station?" Catherine asked.

Viva flipped her hair behind her. "Since I'm not allowed in my own house I drove around for awhile."

"And then you called Nick," Catherine said.

Viva glared at her. "Yes, then I called Nick. I needed to see him."

"Why don't you tell us exactly what happened?" Grissom suggested quietly.

Viva shifted again, and Catherine watched her carefully. She could simply be anxious over Nick's disappearance, or she could be hiding something.

"I called him," she said. "I asked him to come meet me at the liquor store. When I got there the place was locked. Nick wasn't there so I figured he changed his mind, and I left." She met there eyes challengingly, as though daring them not to believe her.

Grissom frowned at this, and Catherine stepped forward agitatedly. "Why didn't you just come to the station?" she demanded.

Viva looked up and glared at her. "I needed to speak with Nick, and I knew you wouldn't let me see him."

Grissom held up a finger. "You said the liquor store was locked?" Catherine's eyes widened marginally as she realized what she'd missed.

Viv nodded. "Yes. There was an out to lunch sign in the window. Why?"

"Did you see Nick's truck across the street when you arrived?" Catherine asked.

"No, I wasn't really paying all that much attention," Viva said. "I was just looking for Nick. Why?" No one answered her.

Catherine pulled a photo from her shoulder bag and slid it across the table to Viva. It was the one with the old boyfriend burned from the picture, and Viv winced when she saw it. "Can you tell us who that is?"

"Roger Banks," Viv snapped. "Why? You think I've offed him too?"

"We're just trying to find out what's going on here," Brass said reasonably. "Why don't you tell us a little bit about Roger, and why you felt the need to burn him out of the picture?"

"He's another old boyfriend," Viva said. "My first serious relationship. He slept with my roommate of the time, so I burned him out of all of my pictures. I don't see how this is relevant."

Catherine watched her carefully. "Maybe you have a score to settle with men," she said. "I know how it is--falling in love, head over heels, only to watch as he throws it all away for someone else."

"You don't give up, do you?" Viv snapped. "Look, I was upset when I caught him cheating, but I didn't kill him, I got even by sleeping with someone else too. I've been the other woman enough times now myself--I'm over it."

"Then why do you still have this picture?" Grissom asked gently.

"Because I look good in it," Viva snarled.

"What time were you at the liquor store?" Grissom asked, changing tracks again.

Viva sighed, irritated, but thought about the answer. "About ten to nine."

"Ten minutes before Landers would have returned from his lunch break," Grissom said. "At which time the door would no longer be locked."

"What are you talking about?" Viva demanded, but Grissom ignored her and turned to Catherine.

"Catherine, go find Greg. Ask him what time Nick left. We need to establish a timeline."

Catherine nodded, and with one last glance at Viva she left the room--and nearly collided with Warrick.

"She in there?" he demanded.

"Yes, but let Grissom handle it," Catherine said easily. "What's up with you?"

He placed a hand to his forehead. "Nick is probably dead, Catherine, and she probably did it--how do you expect me to react?"

"I don't think Nick is dead," Catherine said simply. "This killer is meticulous. No fingerprints, no hairs--the only evidence we've been able to find so far are the fibers in the neck wounds, and they're still with Trace. He stages the victims on their beds--if Nick was dead I think we would have found him by now. The killer wants us to find them."

"Yeah, yeah okay," Warrick said, calming only slightly. "But if he is alive, for how long?"

Catherine started down the hall. "We're going to find him, Warrick."

"You sound pretty confident. Have you forgotten we're all pessimists here, Catherine? We know how these things work." He slammed his hand against the wall. "We're going to find him alright, but what are the chances it won't be too late?"

"Right now?" Catherine asked. "I'd say they're still good. Like I said, I think the killer has a system."

Realization began to form in his mind, and he glanced up at her. "You mean maybe that's why you didn't find Nick dead in that liquor store," he said quietly. "It isn't his turn yet."

Catherine gave a half shrug and then continued walking down the hall, her heels clicking and echoing off the walls, leaving him standing behind her until the sounds faded and he was alone. She didn't have any of the answers yet, but she knew there were four lives standing in wait before Nick--and all five of them were at risk.

When she reached the DNA lab, Greg came out to meet her. "Any news?"

Catherine shook her head. "Not yet. I need to know what time Nick left the lab."

Greg frowned and glanced at the clock. "I think it was about eight twenty. Why?"

Catherine walked into the DNA lab, and picked up one of the washable black markers. She moved towards the glass partition. "We're making a timeline," she said absently. "Nick left at eight twenty, and Viva says she arrived at eight forty to find the liquor store locked. It takes about seven minutes to get there from here--Nick would have already been there by the time she says she arrived." She made the notations on glass, but it wasn't making any of it clearer.

"She could be lying," Greg pointed out.

Catherine nodded. "That's my best guess, too. She _says_ the liquor store was locked, but Nick got inside, and he would have arrived after the time Landers said he left for lunch."

"So, whoever knocked Nick out and cleaned the place up locked the door behind them," Greg said. "Viva shows up, doesn't see him and the door is locked…"

Catherine shook her head. "No, that doesn't work either. When Landers came back from his lunch break he said the door was unlocked. Viva's lying to us."

"Or maybe whoever attacked Nick was still there, and he locked the door while he cleaned the place up, unlocked it again before he left…" Greg pointed out.

Catherine glanced at him. "Maybe." Catherine's eyes flickered back to her timeline. Greg could be right, and worse, Viva might have been too--she kept trying so hard to pin it on Viva that she might be missing everything else.

* * *

Grissom caught up with her as she was heading through the lab towards the parking lot. "I had a background check run on Banks," he said as he caught pace beside her. "He's clean. He's married and has a couple of kids, I don't really see him as a suspect but we should question him anyway. On Viva's character if nothing else."

Catherine nodded and glanced over at him. "I got our timeline. And someone might be lying to us. Whoever attacked Nick did it before Viva says she arrived, leaving the door locked--but Landers found it unlocked when he arrived ten minutes later."

"If Viva is telling the truth, then perhaps the assailant was still inside cleaning up," Grissom said. "And when they left they unlocked the door."

Catherine nodded. "That's exactly what Greg said, and it's possible, but Nick was hit right by the door--the entire front of the store is glass so there was no where for whoever was cleaning up to hide. And Viva would have been right there trying to get in, she would have seen something if he was still there."

"The assailant could have been hiding behind the counter," Grissom said.

"Then where was Nick?" she countered. "Would he have been able to drag him out of sight in time, clean up the bottle before Viva showed up a few minutes later?"

Grissom gave a half smile, but his heart wasn't in it. "Well, that's what we need to find out, isn't it?"

Catherine sighed. "I'm going to meet Sara at the liquor store. She was getting ready to pack up but I told her to wait for me."

Grissom nodded. "I'll go question Banks. Call me if you find anything."

"Will do," she said tiredly, as she pushed through the doors.

* * *

He didn't know how long he had been there. Time seemed oddly suspended, and he suspected that was a result of his head wound and the bouts of unconsciousness, but even awake he could hardly keep track of the minutes. Moments of clarity would sneak between the confusion, and he would find himself processing the room as though it was someone else tied to the steel set of shelves and not him.

It wasn't like he hadn't been in similar situations himself before. He'd been held at gunpoint more than once, and in some strange way he almost preferred it to this--at least then he had known what he was facing. This was different, and he could almost feel himself disconnecting from the reality of it. His mind still clung on, however, sharp and analytical, forcing him to take in his surroundings and try to make sense of the situation.

Things started to come together a bit for him when he noticed the pictures. They were scattered behind him and to his left, on the bottom shelf. All of them had Viva in them, some of them had him too, but he was obviously not the focus of whoever had taken the pictures. This was obsession, he'd seen it before--had been the object of it himself. He was beginning to think he was being held by another Nigel Crane, only this time, he was playing the role of Jane instead.

* * *

Catherine couldn't see Sara when she first entered the liquor store. Landers and O'Riley were outside talking about degeneration of society in general, over coffee. There was only one black and white left across the street, the lights turned off, the beat cops leaning against the side with crossed arms. She placed her kit down on the floor and moved curiously to the counter. She kneeled down behind it, and measured the space with her mind. There was more than enough room for one person to hide, but two was pushing it.

She stood up and saw Sara standing on the other side of the counter, a bemused smile playing across her lips. "What are you up to, Catherine?"

Catherine smiled too, though hers held hidden secrets and not confusion. "What have you found?"

Sara seemed to deflate. She shrugged. "Nothing. Chances are whoever attacked him got Nick out of here just as quick--I checked out the back door and the front for a blood trail or footprints--but the only useable footprints I found, I matched to Landers."

Catherine frowned and nodded. "We're wasting time here. I was hoping there was something here…I've got a feeling we're missing something."

Sara looked slightly affronted, and she crossed her arms. "I went over this place twice, Catherine, there's nothing here."

Catherine's eyes strayed to the smoking dolls, she picked one up. She looked at the bottom, there was a D.L. engraved there, and she wondered if Dave Landers designed them himself.

When she got no response, Sara sighed, her eyes straying back towards the front windows. "How did it go with Viva?"

"Dead end," Catherine said tightly. "She says she was coming to meet Nick here but he didn't show up."

"It could be true," Sara said thoughtfully. "Nick isn't a lightweight, its unlikely Viva could have moved him without getting noticed."

"I know," she said softly. "But if isn't her, we're almost out of places to look." She placed the doll down, but didn't take her eyes off of it. "You can tell Landers he can have his store back. We're done here."

Sara nodded, though Catherine couldn't see her, and walked outside with her kit in hand. When she filled them in, O'Riley motioned for the officers to head off and moved towards his own car. Landers headed back into his store, and Sara watched from the sidewalk, waiting for Catherine to join her outside.

"You seem fascinated by those," Landers said when he noticed where Catherine was looking.

She glanced up. "I was just wondering, do they sell these anywhere else?"

"Nope," Landers said with a pleased grin. "Designed 'em myself. Had to put in a special order--only place to get them is here."

"And you say Viva Charles is the only one to have purchased any number of them?" Catherine asked.

Landers moved behind the counter, and outside, Sara agitatedly moved her kit to hold in her other hand. "Well, I think so. I don't really pay all that much attention. I suppose it's possible, but she's the only one that sticks out in my mind, you know?"

Catherine gave a quick smile. "Of course." She handed him a card. "If you remember anyone else who bought a few of them, will you give me a call?"

"Sure thing."

* * *

Roger Banks answered the door on the second knock, a young girl about six clung to his side. He smiled curiously out at Gil Grissom. "Can I help you?"

Grissom flashed his ID. "I'm Gil Grissom, with the crime lab. Are you Roger Banks?" The man nodded and Grissom continued. "I was wondering if you could answer a few questions."

Banks glanced behind him as a woman shouted, "Who is it?"

Roger Banks, obviously not sure how to answer, didn't immediately respond. He turned to his daughter. "Emily, why don't you go tell your mother someone is here with some questions?"

The little girl watched Grissom with wide eyes for a moment, before turning and running into the house. Banks stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him. "What is this about, Mr. Grissom?" he asked.

"Viva Charles," Grissom said.

Banks frowned. "I haven't heard from her in years. Is she alright?"

"She's fine, Mr. Banks. I just have some questions. To start, when was the last time you were on the strip?" Grissom knew this was perhaps not the best place to start, as people never liked being suspects--but the quicker he knew the answers, the closer to finding the murderer they got.

Either not realizing the purpose of the question, or simply not caring, Roger Banks looked more amused than anything. He laughed. "It's been months," he said. "Alice and I are lucky to get to a movie."

Grissom gave a small smile, more for the sake of social courtesy than anything else. "You said it's been years since you've seen Viva Charles?"

"Yes," Banks said, shifting to leave against the side of his house. "I'm married now, Mr. Grissom. I dated Viva in college, we had a bad break up."

'So I heard,' Grissom thought wryly, though even he knew enough about people not to reveal too much aloud. "Have you received any threatening letters, Mr. Banks?"

"No, I haven't. Mr. Grissom, I'd really like to know what's going on." As he finished speaking the door opened, and a pretty brunette in her early thirties leaned outside.

"Roger?" She glanced at Grissom. "Who is this?"

"He's from the crime lab, Alice," Roger said. "He has some questions about Viva."

Alice grimaced. "What has she done? Gone and burned down a casino?"

Grissom's eyes flickered to hers. "You know Viva Charles."

"Sure," she said. "We used to be roommates."

Grissom almost let a smile slip. "You don't seem to think very much of her."

"She nearly set me on fire," Alice said with disgust. "She's a menace."

Roger turned to glare at his wife. "She was upset, they were having a…fight. She doesn't try to hurt anyone, really. She's not in trouble, is she?"

Grissom shook his head. "Like I said, I'm only here to ask a few questions." His cell phone started ringing, and he glanced at the couple. "If you will excuse me for a moment…?"

Roger nodded and then turned to whisper something to his wife. Grissom would have liked to know what he said, but his cell phone said it was Brass calling him, so he stepped away and answered instead. "Grissom."

"We've got another one, Gil," Brass said, sounding tired. "Simon O'Neil. I had a couple of under cover cops patrolling all of our guys' houses, they went by O'Neil's and saw the doors open. He was dead when they found him."

Grissom glanced over at Banks and his wife, who he very much doubted could have gone across town for murder, and been back here and so composed by the time he arrived. He decided this was a dead end and stepped back over to them. "Thank you both for your time, you've been a great help."

They both nodded, Banks looking worried while his wife remained coldly composed. Grissom knew Banks was probably simply worried about an old girlfriend, while Alice was thinking her old roommate was finally getting what she deserved--but sometimes he couldn't shake that drive within him that made everyone, however unlikely, suspects in his mind.

He sighed as he started back to his car. Nick didn't seem to have that problem, he still trusted people, and Grissom admired that. He hoped that when they found him, that wouldn't have changed.

* * *

When Grissom reached the crime scene, David and Warrick were already hovering over the body. As with the other two, this victim was strangled. He frowned as he looked at the man, who a couple hours ago he had seen at the police station. It shouldn't have happened, but it seemed that this kind of thing happened all the time.

Warrick nodded when he saw him. "We matched the threads from the first two victims." He held up his forceps, and a small thread was held between them. "I have a feeling this will match too."

Grissom nodded. "Same murder weapon."

"Looks like," Warrick said. He sounded tense, but Grissom didn't comment. They were all on edge.

He turned to David. "Time of death?"

David glanced up at him. "I would put it at about ten o'clock."

Grissom glanced at his watch. "He hasn't even been dead an hour."

David nodded then got to his feet. "He's all yours. Tell us when you want him moved out."

Grissom nodded and came to kneel besides Warrick. Warrick turned to him. "How did it go with the Banks guy?"

Grissom shook his head. "It looks like a dead end. It took me almost twenty minutes to get here, and I was with him before that. It's possible, but extremely unlikely."

Warrick frowned, frustration getting the better of him. "If he isn't the killer, then why isn't he a target?"

Grissom thought about it for a moment, then started to speak slowly, as realization unraveled in his mind. "Because his picture was cut out," Grissom said. "And he wasn't in her address book. The killer didn't know about him. I don't think Viva is behind this--If this was about revenge, he would have been first on her list."

He heard familiar voices behind him, and turned to see Catherine and Sara entering the room. He noticed that Catherine looked a little pale, but didn't comment. "Did you find anything?" he asked.

Sara shook her head. "Nothing. We're not getting any closer to finding Nick."

Catherine looked at the third victim. "No, we're not. And there's still three lives hanging in the balance before his."

* * *

The single light bulb hanging in the center of the ceiling was bright, lancing into his eyes as he tried to think like the investigator he was. He could handle this, if only he pretended it wasn't him that had to. He'd placed himself in this kind of situations more times than he could count, trying to put himself in the same frame of mind as the victims they investigated. No problem.

Of course, when the door started to slip open, he realized it wasn't that easy.

He didn't recognize the man that entered, but there was something, in the back of his mind, whispering that he should. He swallowed, shifting on the ground. He wasn't in the best position for a showdown, but he'd have to make do. The guy walked over to him, and tugged the gag free.

"I don't know how you found me," the man snapped. "But you're ruining everything. You should have just waited for your turn."

Nick blinked. He didn't know how he had found him either, and though he didn't mind waiting as opposed to being killed off, he was pretty sure the guy was planning to kill the other men before him, and that couldn't be allowed. Grissom and Cath would stop him, Nick decided. Even if they couldn't get to him.

He decided not to respond. His track record with talking down the obviously insane was less than encouraging, so he might as well try his odds with saying nothing at all.

It didn't seem like it was the exact right thing to do, if the guy's growing frown was any indication. "You can't have Viva," he snapped. "None of you can. She belongs to me."

"Those guys you've been killing haven't seen her for years." So much for not speaking. Nick winced when the man's expression grew darker. That was apparently not the right thing to do either, but he decided not to be too hard on himself for it. He was pretty much damned no matter what he did.

"I want to get rid of anyone that's touched her," he hissed. "I'd start with you if I could, but it isn't allowed."

"Not allowed?" Nick asked, honestly confused. He realized only after he spoke that he shouldn't be questioning a system that kept him at the end of the line.

The man waved his hand dismissively, as though they were in the middle of a casual conversation. "You wouldn't understand. You don't need to."

There was a ring on the man's hand, a garish gold one on his middle finger. There was a flame engraved on the surface, and suddenly, Nick remembered seeing it before. He remembered who it belonged to, as well, and he knew now who the murderer was. He would be excited about breaking the case, but the information didn't really do him any good.

All things considered, he was actually hoping not to have been the first to have found out.

* * *

"Gris is starting to think Charles is innocent," Warrick said, as he ran his flashlight along the bed. "Banks too. We're running out of suspects."

"We're running out of potential targets, too," Catherine said irritably. "Has Brass put guards on our other three guys?"

Warrick nodded. "Yes. They didn't argue this time."

"I bet they didn't," she said. The beam of her flashlight ran across a small charred figure, and she paused. "Isn't O'Neil's doll in evidence?"

Grissom came beside. "Yes."

Catherine nodded towards the doll. "Looks like they replaced it. Couldn't bear to break the pattern."

Grissom nodded to Sara, and she moved forward to bag it for evidence.

"But where are they getting them?" Catherine demanded. "Landers makes them personally, and he says Viva is the only one to buy them. She's been in custody this whole time, there's no way she put that doll there."

Grissom turned to her with a frown. "You think Landers is lying to us?"

"I think he has to be."

Sara paused after sealing the bag, and glanced up at them. "When was the time of death?"

"Around ten o'clock," Grissom told her. "Why?"

"Landers…he just disappeared for awhile. He left at nine thirty, I think. O'Riley and I thought he must have gone to get something to eat, but it was strange. He came back twenty minutes later, acted kind of oddly, like he hadn't left."

Brass, who had joined them, cursed. "You think it's the liquor store guy? Are you kidding me? We've had him all along."

"It's just a theory," Grissom said, but something flashed in his eyes that led Brass to believe he thought it was more than that. "But maybe we should pay him a visit."

"The stores hours are over," Catherine said. "He might have gone home."

Grissom nodded. "Brass, find out where he lives. Sara, Warrick, I want you two back at the liquor store. Take O'Riley. If he's there, call me. Catherine and I will pay him a visit at home."

Sara and Warrick nodded, each grabbing their kit and starting for the door. Warrick opened his cell phone, and Grissom could still hear him talking to O'Riley as they disappeared.

"Got it. He lives near the store," Brass said, a few minutes later. "Let's go."

* * *

Nick watched him carefully, trying to hide his fear as much as he could. The man had already killed two people that he knew of, and judging from his murder weapon of choice, he probably got off on it.

"You don't have to kill them, Landers," Nick said, and he hated that his voice shook. He should be used to this by now, and this time, there wasn't even a gun--just the bloody length of rope hanging from Dave Lander's right hand. "They don't mean anything to her. I don't either. She broke up with me already."

"You think I care what you mean to her?" Landers demanded. His voice was steady in contrast to Nick's, but his hands were shaking. "I care what I mean to her. I care what she means to me. You're nothing but an inconvenience."

Nick adjusted his hands, numb now, though there was still enough feeling in them that he could recognize the blood trickling over his fingers from his torn wrists. His eyes were darting from Lander's to the rope in his hands, and he couldn't seem to keep them still. "I'm sorry about that," Nick said. He winced the moment the words left his mouth. He got a flash of Nigel Crane. _Are you mocking me?_

Landers' reaction was much the same. He reached over and untied the ropes from where ever it had been hooked, though the length wrapped around his wrists did not loosen. Landers shoved him to his knees in the middle of the room, and for the third time in his life, he watched it all flash behind his eyes.

He wanted to say something, to come up with some reason why this was wrong, but it had never worked before, and he was running out of things to say. There were tears in his eyes and he shut them closed, refusing this time to let them fall. He didn't see the rope come down to wrap around his neck, but he felt it pull back, twisting, cutting off the air supply. He would have reached up to pull it away, but his hands were tied and he couldn't get them to move.

He'd always thought strangulation would be a horrible way to die, and as the edges of his vision tinged black, he could hear someone screaming.

It had to be the lack of oxygen, because it sounded like Grissom.

TBC…


	3. Conclusion

Author's Notes: So this is it, hope it isn't too anticlimactic--thank you very much to everyone that reviewed. This story was actually one of the very first CSI fics I started, though the last so far that I've finished, and there are a lot of things I would change if I were only starting it now, so the support is appreciated.

* * *

The front door had been unlocked. They didn't have a warrant, but when they heard a dull thud sound from inside, they had probable cause. Grissom and Catherine were pushed behind Brass and his men, who charged the foyer with their guns in front of them. 

Catherine had her gun out as well, looking very much as though she'd love to use it. Reluctantly, Grissom followed her example. They heard a voice, and Brass ran in front of them into the kitchen. A door to a pantry was open, and through it, they could see Nick on his knees. Landers stood behind him, his fists so tight around the rope that blood was seeping into the threads around his fingers, and his concentration was so focused he had not even heard them come in.

Grissom was yelling before the scene had entirely registered, and though he wasn't sure what he had said, it caused Landers to let go of the rope and step back in shock. Nick stood suspended for a moment, his eyes clouded with shock, before he fell.

"Hands in the air," Brass demanded, reaching forward to grab Landers by the collar and pull him from the closet before he'd even had a chance to do as he'd been told. Grissom and Catherine ran to Nick, and Vega called for an ambulance.

Brass passed Landers off to Vega, who cuffed him quickly, reading him his rights with acid in his voice. Brass's eyes flickered back to the three CSIs. They'd turned Nick onto his back. He was pale, but not all of the color had gone, and Brass was hoping that meant he would be alright. He turned to glare at Landers. "You'd better hope that kid isn't dead," he snapped.

Landers looked like he was in shock himself. Maybe he was just unable to believe he had been caught, or maybe he really couldn't believe what he had done. Brass wasn't sure he cared either way.

"I only did it for her," he said, his voice was pleading. "She wanted me to, she did! I swear it, she asked me to. We're meant to be together, don't you see!? I couldn't let anything keep us apart."

"Get him out of here," Brass demanded.

"My pleasure," Vega said. He cast a quick concerned look over at Nick, before shoving Landers from the room.

"This guy's off his rocker," Brass mumbled, his tone of voice falling somewhere between awe and resignation. As soon as Landers was out of sight, he knelt beside Catherine. "How is he?"

"He's just passed out," Catherine said, sounding relieved. "Thank god he's breathing."

Grissom gave him a light shake, and Nick let out a low moan. "Nicky?"

"Gris?" Nick sounded totally bewildered. He immediately regretted speaking, his throat felt as though it had been torn apart. His eyes moved from Grissom, to Brass, to Catherine. Catherine was untying rope from around his wrists, and that was enough to remind him where he was.

When the rope came loose, the pain came rushing to take its place. He winced and bit his lip, glad at least that it had taken his attention off his throat. Behind him, Grissom helped him sit up. The room spun a little when he was pulled half up, but it stopped quick enough. "Landers?" he asked, wincing again.

"We got him," Brass said, smiling over at him. "Good to see you. Maybe we ought to have a talk sometime about safety, huh? And common sense."

Nick was tempted to issue a comeback, but he didn't think the pain of speaking would be worth the results. He gave a small rueful smile instead.

They heard faint sirens, getting closer, and Grissom muttered, "It's about time."

Nick felt Catherine's eyes on him and glanced at her. She was watching him intensely, looking about as pale as he imagined he did. "Cath--" he started, but she cut him off, pulling him into a fierce hug.

"From now on you run all your dates past me, you got that?"

He gave a startled laugh. Catherine held him tighter when he started shaking, because she knew it wasn't from laughter.

* * *

Nick pulled irritably on the neck of his sweater. It was a grey ribbed turtleneck that Catherine said made him look like he belonged on the cover of GQ, and he only wore because it hid the bandages. He'd spent last night and almost all day in the hospital, but they had finally released him and the night shift had started again. 

Not that he was allowed to work. He sighed as he headed to Brass's office. He was only here to give a statement, at which time he would be sent home to rest. Not that he wanted to rest, because resting meant thinking, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Nick." He stopped and turned towards the voice. Grissom was leaning in the doorway of his office. "A moment, please."

"Sure," he said quietly, following him into his office. He tapped his fingers along the back of the chair he stood behind, while Grissom sat behind his desk. Catherine had warned him that Grissom was less than happy he had gone to meet Viva, and as much as he wanted to return to work, this had been something he would have liked to postpone.

"I asked you to stay at the lab," Grissom said casually.

Nick took a deep breath. "Yes."

"You said that you would," Grissom continued, his eyes on a file he was sorting through, but Nick doubted he was actually seeing.

"Yes."

"I asked you to stay away from Ms. Charles."

Nick almost winced, but managed not to. "Yes."

"You said that you would." Grissom looked up then, his intense eyes locking onto Nick's and holding him there like a deer in front of an oncoming car.

"I did, yes."

"Yet," Grissom said, leaning back in his chair. "You did neither."

He thought about pointing out that he hadn't seen Viva since he had said that he wouldn't, but decided it probably wouldn't help considering the reason he hadn't was he'd been kidnapped. "I didn't mean for it to happen." It was true enough. He'd had every intention of following through--until, that was, Viva called him sounding terrified and heart broken. He'd been set on white knight auto-pilot after that.

"Do something that stupid again, Nick, and I'm putting you on suspension."

Grissom said it so calmly, as though he'd just mentioned the weather, that the words took a moment to register. His mouth fell open. "Grissom, I didn't--"

Grissom sighed. "Nick, you've been in more life threatening situations than the rest of us combined. Humor me, will you?"

Nick swallowed, the lingering pain in his throat causing him to wince. Grissom noticed, and let out another sigh, looking exhausted. "You should go home and rest, Nicky. You're on leave for a week."

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest and say he could be back by tomorrow, but he held back. Maybe after a week they would have forgotten all of this, he decided. And they'd all stop looking at him like he was made of glass.

"As soon as I give my statement," he said instead. He gave a small smile and turned around. He stopped before entering the hall and looked over his shoulder. "I don't think I said thank you for saving my life--again."

Grissom gave a wry smile. "There's no need to thank me, Nick. It was all of us, and we were happy to do it. We just don't want to have to do it again." The last part was accompanied by a pointed glare, and Nick gave a brilliant smile in response.

"Understood," he said, before continuing to Brass's office, however, as fate wasn't finished giving him a hard time yet, someone else stopped him before he could reach it.

Viva Charles lightly touched his arm, smiling coyly when he stopped and turned around. She was in one of her saner moods today, apparently, but he knew her well enough by now to know it wouldn't last. If he thought it ever would, he wouldn't be so convinced he had to walk away.

She seemed to notice what he wasn't saying, and her smile faded away. "We're not getting back together this time, are we?"

Nick paused. He hated leaving her to deal with what had happened to her alone, he knew how traumatizing a stalker could be, but he kept trying to save women that didn't want to be saved--and someone always wound up hurt. "I think that would be for the best."

He didn't know what else to say, so he started down the hall so he could find Brass and give his statement. He just wanted to put this all behind him, place it with all the rest he didn't want to remember and never touch it again.

"I guess I'll have to add you to the list of guys that have broken my heart then," Viva called after him.

Something in her voice caused him to pause, and when he turned around she was gone.

_The End._


End file.
